


The Unlocking of Will Graham

by vipjuly



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Barebacking, Blood Kink, Choking, Daddy Kink, Dom/sub Undertones, Felching, First Time, Getting Together, M/M, Porn Without Plot, Power Bottom Will Graham, Unsafe Sex, Will Doesn't Care, Will Graham Knows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-18 02:15:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29482050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vipjuly/pseuds/vipjuly
Summary: It’s the physical sensation that passes through Hannibal when he sees Will exit the motel bathroom, shirt unbuttoned and his curly hair dripping down over his neck where it’s stuck to his moist skin. The boxers he’s wearing--which aren’t very different than any of the other boxers Hannibal has seen him in on those occasions where he managed to drop in on Will and the agent didn’t seem to care one bit about his own personal state of affairs--are nearly transparent, they’re so lightly colored. Not quite white, not quite blue, not quite grey. They hang low on Will’s hips, hips that are surprisingly curvaceous for his otherwise masculine figure, the waistband of them dampening slightly, coloring dark with the leftover hot water from the shower. Either side of the unbuttoned shirt barely conceals his nipples, the bare skin a neon arrow down to the thatch of dark hair that disappears into the fabric of his shorts. He grips the towel in his left hand, the veins pressing up under his skin, bulging with the day's tension and the near depletion of all of his sanity in the wake of living in the mind of a serial killer. He is beautiful, he is wet, and he is…Wearing Hannibal’s dress shirt.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 4
Kudos: 220





	The Unlocking of Will Graham

**Author's Note:**

> all typos and mistakes are mine.  
> when u come ~so close~ to writing daddy kink but always shirk it, so u end up writing this out of sheer frustration and spite @ urself

Heat. 

It’s the physical sensation that passes through Hannibal when he sees Will exit the motel bathroom, shirt unbuttoned and his curly hair dripping down over his neck where it’s stuck to his moist skin. The boxers he’s wearing--which aren’t very different than any of the other boxers Hannibal has seen him in on those occasions where he managed to drop in on Will and the agent didn’t seem to care one bit about his own personal state of affairs--are nearly transparent, they’re so lightly colored. Not quite white, not quite blue, not quite grey. They hang low on Will’s hips, hips that are surprisingly curvaceous for his otherwise masculine figure, the waistband of them dampening slightly, coloring dark with the leftover hot water from the shower. Either side of the unbuttoned shirt barely conceals his nipples, the bare skin a neon arrow down to the thatch of dark hair that disappears into the fabric of his shorts. He grips the towel in his left hand, the veins pressing up under his skin, bulging with the day's tension and the near depletion of all of his sanity in the wake of living in the mind of a serial killer. He is beautiful, he is wet, and he is… 

Wearing Hannibal’s dress shirt. 

_Heat_. 

A snarl gets caught behind Hannibal’s teeth, the predator in him wanting to flash his fangs and inspire the younger man to submit. He catches it at the last second, though, caught up in observation and not wanting to spoil this uncaring, unguarded version of his obsession. From where he sits in the chair next to his bed, fingers slowing in untying his wingtips, Will is backlit by the yellowed lights of the motel bathroom. The shadows cutting over his body are the shadows of temptation, curled edges and beckoning wisps. Hannibal’s eyes are drawn to the deep vee of Will’s pelvis, the absolutely blade-sharp divot of his hips leading beneath the waistband, which hadn’t been pulled up to its normal resting place on his frame. 

Hannibal’s hands ache to wield the weapon of Will’s body, his edges sharper and more deadly than any of the knives Hannibal has tucked away. 

But it is not yet the time to commit the perfect crime with Will as his mélée weapon of choice. 

Instead, as Hannibal finally takes off his shoes and leans back in his chair, he regards Will with heavy-lidded eyes, heat thrumming through his body in an almost uncomfortable matter. He can’t ever remember experiencing such a sensation; as though Will were both the heat of the summer and the chill of the winter. He longed for both. He wanted to touch the mercurial storm that poked and prodded at the seams of Will’s own person suit. 

Will’s eyes finally seek Hannibal’s. He’s caught in the doctor’s shirt, nearly dripping wet, treating the no-doubt expensive item of clothing too casually for Hannibal’s liking. His chin tips up slightly; his gaze, normally so twitchy and avoidant, locking with Hannibal’s, as though daring him to a challenge. It’s a reminder to Hannibal that he is not the lamb the doctor once thought he was. Here, in the privacy of the motel room dear Uncle Jack stuffed them in for the night, unguarded and coming down from the thrill of the chase, Will is as beautiful as ever, but sharper, clearer, like the wide angle lens of Hannibal’s eyes has finally zoomed in and focused on him properly.

Gracefully, and with accomplished patience, Hannibal stands from the chair. On bare feet he walks quietly over to the silent Will, who continues to regard him with his radioactive eyes. Will doesn’t move--he doesn’t even twitch, like he normally does when someone invades his personal space. Hannibal daren’t even breathe, this close to his perfect, stunning boy. Their scant height difference lengthens when Hannibal straightens his posture and spine, Will relaxing back on the heels of his feet to accommodate the change. It is a subtle submission, but submission nonetheless.

Lifting his left hand, the doctor barely touches the skin above Will’s waistband with the tips of his fingers. Will’s abdomen clenches beautifully, an attractive display, redolent of the gods Hannibal frequently likens him to. Dropping his chin slightly, still only barely breathing, Hannibal allows his fingers to trail up Will’s side, the fabric of the opened shirt whispering over the back of his hand and knuckles. Though Hannibal tends to all of his possessions in the same particular, meticulous manner, he finds that this is a shirt he could give up. The seams of the sleeves rest two inches below the curve of Will’s shoulders, highlighting the broader form of the doctor’s body in contrast to Will’s deceptively slender figure. Hannibal’s eyes follow his fingers up Will’s sternum, his wrist veering off course slightly to push the fabric aside, a barely-there glance of fine cotton over the peak of a hard nipple. 

The breath Will takes with slightly parted lips wouldn’t be audible to anyone else.

But Hannibal Lecter is an apex predator, the only one of his kind, and he is so finely tuned to everything Will Graham, that the gentle gasp roars through his ears like river rapids crashing over jagged rocks. 

As one hand climbs higher, Hannibal moves the other over the fabric of the shorts, before they move spider-like across the curve of Will’s hip, such a delightful contrast to the masculine planes of his torso. Fingers tap up the column of Will’s neck at the same time the palm of his other hand smooths over the generous, supple form of Will’s ass, and with those two points of contact he jerks Will fully into him, enchanted with the way the agent’s knees weaken slightly. 

“This is my shirt,” Hannibal says, entirely unnecessarily. 

He can hear the bratty smirk in Will’s voice, “This old thing? I got our clothes mixed up, it seems. Hope you don’t mind.” 

The insult wrapped in coyness has that same _heat_ flashing through Hannibal’s core. His control snaps, only briefly, the fingers under Will’s jaw moving lightning-quick. He shoves his index and middle finger into Will’s mouth, using them as a tongue depressor. He drinks in the choked off noise Will makes, how he squirms slightly against Hannibal’s broader body, feels Will’s hands grip onto the front of his sleep shirt to keep himself steady. Like this Will has to tilt his head back to keep the saliva in his mouth going down his throat instead of dribbling out, something that Hannibal will correct soon enough. 

“My sassy boy,” Hannibal murmurs his praise, watching through his lashes with hawk-like vision to catalogue the flush that springs up on his boy’s cheeks. “This shirt cost more than the mortgage on your termite-ridden house.” 

The soft palate under Will’s jaw shudders with a laugh, his tongue wiggling against Hannibal’s fingers. Hannibal gives him reprieve for a moment, coaxing a response:

“That sounds like a ‘you’ problem, not a ‘me’ problem.” 

Whip-quick Hannibal’s other hand comes up to wrap around Will’s throat, a snarl leaving his mouth as he shoves the younger man up against the wall with a thud. His spit-wet fingers lash out, slapping an exposed nipple, eliciting a surprised gasp from Will. He squirms in reply, a visible shudder wracking through his body as he lifts his hands to grip at Hannibal’s forearm.

He does not push Hannibal away.

He forces him to adjust his grip on his throat so that it’s more secure. 

Blue eyes flash white hot, that sinful pink tongue running along the bottoms of the top row of his teeth, the very corner of his mouth tilted up in a defiant smirk. 

“Are you going to punish me, Daddy?” 

This time when the heat rips through Hannibal’s body he lets out the snarl trapped behind his teeth, the ferocity of it shocking to both of them, Will’s pupils dilating so huge the black swallows blue, a choked off keen erupting from his crushed throat. Yanking his boy away from the wall Hannibal, with a surprising amount of grace, turns to sit on the bed. Between one blink and the next he has Will spread over his lap, face down, ass up. He stuffs his fingers back into Will’s mouth, this time hooking on his lower jaw to force his mouth open, feeling ribbons and tendrils of spit globbing over his fingers and hand. His other, dry hand, pulls Will’s boxers down to expose his ass, Hannibal not wasting even a split second before connecting his palm to the flesh. 

Will doesn’t even make a noise. Instead a strange, pleased, garbled sigh leaves his throat as he goes boneless over Hannibal’s lap. Four more strikes in rapid succession has Will’s cock filling and pressing insistently into Hannibal’s thigh. His fingers are so far down Will’s throat they choke him, his boy’s body tensing and convulsing occasionally with his gags in an effort to prevent himself from vomiting. 

“What was your malfeasance?” Hannibal’s voice is steadier than he thought it’d be, and for that, he is grateful. 

His sweet boy doesn’t wriggle, doesn’t beg, doesn’t try to resist. He parts his fingers to a V in Will’s mouth so his tongue can move, his most favorite and beautiful version of Will’s sharp mind reaching his ears. 

“‘Rat,” Will tries to say, the ‘B’ cut off by his lips stretched around the base of Hannibal’s knuckles. 

“You were a brat,” Hannibal agrees diplomatically. His palm idly smooths over Will’s pink cheeks, his wrist turning so his dry thumb can swipe over his dry hole. “You ruined my shirt, and you smart-mouthed me.” 

“Daddy.” It is not a plea, but a command. 

“What ever shall I do?” He presses the dry tip of his thumb to Will’s dry hole, watching it disappear into yielding flesh. 

Will does not squirm. He does not beg. 

Coming to a decision, Hannibal removes his hands and fingers from every point of contact with Will’s body. “Stand up.” 

Will doesn’t hurry to comply, but he doesn’t dawdle, either. He gracefully stands, making sure the long, lean lines of his gorgeous body are on display. In front of Hannibal he shrugs the too-large shirt off of his shoulders, the expensive fabric falling to his feet in an outright display of negligence. Hannibal knows how Will feels about his spending habits, so this particular act does not surprise him. Will’s cock is tenting the front of his flimsy boxers. Hannibal barely casts it a glance as he stands up as well, the palms of his hands sliding up Will’s body, from the hardness of his abs to the barely-there curve of his pectorals, pinkies slipping over his nipples and eliciting an uncontainable shiver. 

“Kneel.” 

His boy drops to his knees. Hannibal reaches out to card his fingers through damp curls, dislodging them from flatness and twirling them around his fingers to give them back their bounce. He does this over the entirety of Will’s head, with one finger only, taking his time. When he’s done and Will’s hair is voluminous and shiny to both their liking, Hannibal takes a slight step backwards. 

“On the bed.” 

With all the patience in the world, lulled into comfort by Hannibal’s affectionate touch, Will gets on the bed. He lies on his stomach, drawing a pillow toward him to wrap his arms underneath it and prop his cheek on the fluffy mound of it. He wiggles his hips to lie comfortably with his cock under him, spreading his feet wide, curling his toes into the duvet. Hannibal observes his boy, watches him get comfortable. His cock is still hard, but not leaking, and Will does not seek out any extra friction to relieve the pressure. 

With panther-like grace Hannibal crawls onto the bed to kneel between Will’s spread legs. He doesn’t remove a single article of his own clothing. He reaches out to remove the flimsy boxers from Will’s body, working them down his lovely legs, bending down to pepper wet, worshiping kisses along the skin the fabric passes by. After tossing the underwear aside, Hannibal guides Will’s right leg to bend at the knee, bringing his ankle up to Hannibal’s shoulder; with all the love and tenderness in the world Hannibal presses an open-mouthed kiss to the arch of Will’s foot, his sharp hearing picking up the stuttered breath Will’s lungs squeeze out. Deft fingers strongly massage his foot, working out the tension accumulated throughout the day. After some moments he sets that foot down, then gives the other one the same treatment. Further and further Will slips into complacency, the brat that came out of the shower being overtaken by the nearly exasperated fondness of a man who knows he’s at the whim of a smitten monster. 

Very slowly Hannibal makes his way up either of Will’s legs. He stops at the backs of his knees, pressing his tongue into the bend, humming when Will’s body squirms in response. Up the backs of his thighs, alternating from the right to the left; and then he’s at the fleshy junction of his ass and thigh, which Hannibal can’t help but sink his teeth into. 

Sucking in a breath and releasing it in a hiss, Will’s body twists slightly. Hannibal pins him in place with strong hands- he makes an adjustment to Will’s cock, pointing it back toward him, fattening up his balls and making them press against his cheeks. The glistening head of the cut cock is almost more tempting than Hannibal can stand but he resists the pull for now, instead guiding Will’s knees to splay out on the bed, frog-legging him before he uses his palms to spread his cheeks open to expose his pretty pink, twitching hole. 

A taste. 

Hannibal samples Will like an hors d'oeuvres, eyes closed and tongue giving a fat, broad swipe. He licks once, then again, then gently spears his tongue against the ring of muscle. Will’s soft noises are music to his ears; the man so unrestrained in his pleasure, unable and unwilling to mask his needs. Thumbs to his own cheeks, Hannibal keeps his boy pried open for him, eight fingers greedily squishing and groping at his ass as he works. It takes only a few moments to make a mess of them both, enough spit to fill a bucket gleaming over Will’s hole, plenty to give Hannibal room to slide his thumb all the way in. He hooks the digit, tugging slightly, relishing the way Will tries to bring his knees up under himself to cant his ass and present it for the taking. 

“Da- nnnh.” 

Pulling his mouth away with a wet smack, Hannibal removes his thumb to replace it with two fingers. The burn makes Will’s spine snap straight, the intrusion no doubt shocking into his system. If Hannibal had even the slightest suspicion that Will would have been ready to seduce him tonight, he would have packed accordingly. And given the fact Will hasn’t made any sort of gesture towards his own bag, he assumes his boy hadn’t known it, himself. Purely a whim, a sudden breaking down of barriers, Will acting on base instinct and for once ignoring anything in his brain that might have told him to divert his course of action and end the night with him safely tucked in his own bed and Hannibal in the other. 

Fascinating. 

Hannibal shifts slightly, allowing Will to pull his knees under himself. The way he presents is obscene, Hannibal greedily drinking up the sight of beautifully pale skin stretched over Grecian muscles, an image stamped into his brain surely until death, something he will draw day in and day out in an attempt to make space in his head for something, anything else, because surely Will wasn’t meant to take up _so much space_ , and yet here he is, expanding and pressing against every known corner of Hannibal’s mind, pushing at the shadows and threatening to overcome him entirely. 

There are worse ways to go mad, Hannibal supposes. 

“How does it feel?” Hannibal can’t help but ask. Will would surely endure their coupling in silence, but Hannibal is a greedy man, and the satisfaction of having Will wanton and desperate beneath him opens up the floodgates. 

“T-tight,” Will grits out with a pant. He turns his head to the side to breathe clearly, clutching the pillow to his chest. The muscles in his shoulders and biceps are bulging, the veins winding this way and that. Hannibal cuts into them with his eyes, imagining the crimson liquid spilling over the cheap motel sheets. 

“How does Daddy make you feel?” The word slices over Hannibal’s tongue, the spit on his lips dripping invisible gore down onto Will’s ass where his fingers slowly, tortuously work in and out of his rim. 

“So _good_ ,” Will huffs. He’s drooling, a dark spot forming on the pillow where his cheek rests and his mouth breathes. His eyes are closed, his skin flushed. 

“You’re so hungry for it,” the doctor notes, shifting to loom over Will. He kisses across his back, over the piano keys of his ribs, playing a sonata with his tongue as he finger-fucks Will hard enough to make him see stars. “You couldn’t even wait to get out of this filthy motel.” 

“N-nh-” 

Hannibal thinks that’s supposed to be a ‘no’, so he continues. His sharp teeth nip at the curve of a shoulder blade, deep enough to create the tiniest prickle of blood. He sweeps it up with his tongue, then sucks at the wound, listening to the way Will’s breath changes when he realizes what the other man is doing. Hannibal is pinning Will to bed with his fingers and accusing him of wanting this so desperately, but the reality is that Hannibal is just as desperate, just as needy. 

His thin control wanes. The friction of his fingers moving out of Will’s ass with only spit as lube burns through him as well. “You will take me like this. No lubricant, no protection. You will feel me for days, dear boy. You will bleed, and you will remember.” 

“ _Please_ -” Will’s voice takes on a dangerous edge. He opens the eye that Hannibal can see, glaciers crashing through the quiet of the stream to steamroll over them both. 

Removing his fingers, Hannibal watches Will’s hole close back up, red and puffy. It isn’t ready for his cock, but Will is, so Hannibal jerks it a few times and then spits onto the head of it, working it shiny and wet. His thighs brace against the back of Will’s to spread his legs further apart; one hand guides his cock, the other holds one of Will’s cheeks aside as he presses in. The resistance freezes Will’s breath, his body freezing and tensing up. Hannibal lets go of his flesh to slap it instead. It pushes a gust of air out of Will’s lungs and shocks him into relaxation, enough for the head of Hannibal’s cock to pop in. Will’s body tenses up again, a little high-pitched gasp leaving his lips at the pain; with his cock past the first barrier Hannibal reaches down, his big hand gripping Will’s throat and yanking him up and back toward him. Will’s spine bows, but Hannibal’s other hand presses against his groin, keeping his hips in place as his cock sinks in deeper.

“Da- Ha- nnnnnh--!” 

Entire body caught in shivering trembles, Will allows Hannibal to manhandle him into place. Hannibal’s fingers move again to dip into Will’s mouth, slicking up his fingers before he reaches down and grips his softening cock. He uses the gasp of surprise to thrust all the way in, cherishing the sound that rips free from Will’s throat. It gets cut off, though, as Hannibal slaps a hand to his mouth to keep him quiet, Hannibal’s teeth sinking into the curve of Will’s neck.

“As much as I would enjoy hearing you, my love, we mustn’t let the neighbors hear.” 

Little sobs wrack through Will’s body. The tightness of his ass around Hannibal’s cock is insane, something he’s never felt before. He almost can’t pull out; he half suspects that if he does, he wouldn’t be able to thrust back in. They stay suspended like that for a few moments until Will has some semblance of regular breathing; Hannibal jerks his cock back to hardness, and when he finally hears a little moan muffled against his hand, he carefully guides them to lie down. Hannibal rests on his back, Will atop him, and before Will can even get his balance Hannibal starts thrusting. It hiccups a surprised noise from Will, who reaches up with his hands above their heads to grip the headboard of the bed with white knuckles. Hannibal’s hands grip Will by his thighs, holding him open, bracing himself on his feet and using his hips to lengthen and strengthen his thrusts. 

It doesn’t take long for Will’s body to acclimate to the pain. It might even be sheer force alone on Will’s part; Hannibal knows the human body’s limits, and this is surely beyond them. But Will, beautiful, incredible Will, is a creature the doctor has never encountered before. After a few moments of Hannibal thrusting into the deliciously tight channel of heat, Will uses a particularly rough bounce to sit up slightly, working his hips to meet the thrusts. Together they find a rhythm. Hannibal’s fingers trace down the insides of Will’s thighs as they join, feeling the hot smear of blood staining pale skin. 

Suddenly ravenous, Hannibal sits up fully, upsetting Will’s balance. His boy flails his hands out for a moment but Hannibal catches him and guides him, pressing him down into the bed once more and drawing his hips back to slam into Will’s ass so hard it moves his entire body. Will cries out, then, a snarling noise, his beast reacting to Hannibal’s. He interrupts Hannibal’s thrusting, his limbs working to try and push himself up; it’s a great feat of strength and quite a back and forth as Hannibal does his best to keep him pinned. But Will eventually overtakes him, getting up on his hands and knees and reaching back with one arm so his hand can tangle into Hannibal’s hair, yanking him roughly to him. Hannibal’s hips stutter, and the offset is just enough to get his cock to pop free from Will’s perfect body. 

The noise Will lets out is something that will exist in Hannibal’s mind palace until the day he dies. The look in his eyes as he turns on Hannibal will be what he sees when he closes his own. 

In a surprising show of strength and power, Will shoves at Hannibal, throwing him back against the headboard of the bed, the wood smacking against the wall and rattling the light sconces. Will is on him in a flash, climbing onto his lap and sitting down on his cock, throwing his head back and raking his nails down Hannibal’s chest, deep enough and hard enough to draw blood through the coarse hair that coats it. Hannibal snarls in turn, reaching to grip Will’s sharp hips, feeling the bones digging into his palm as he allows Will the pin, helping guide his body to lift up and slam back down on his cock. 

Like this, Will is truly unlike anything Hannibal has seen in all his years of living, and in all the experiences he’s had. 

His body made of marble, catching the moonlight streaming through the curtains, undulates in such a manner that it reminds Hannibal of the provocative snake of Eden. He is fierce and powerful and he is now chasing after his own pleasure, having grown tired of Hannibal’s control and direction. Hannibal has never had a lover like this. Hannibal has never had a person like this. 

Hannibal has never. 

Will’s chin tips to his chest, his eyelids heavy and lashes thick as he regards Hannibal. He rests with his hands behind him, palms on Hannibal’s strong thighs to keep him upright. The only part of his body he moves are his hips, his heavy cock swaying and bobbing, dripping precum. His thighs flex and relax, aiding in the undulation of his body. The smirk on his lips is wicked, the flush of his skin enticing. Hannibal had started in control, but the longer his cock is inside of his dear Will, the more he realizes that he was, perhaps, never in control of their lovemaking. 

His gaze drops to where their bodies are joined. The crimson of Will’s blood is black in the moonlight, pooled now in the cradle of Hannibal’s hips and staining the base of his cock. His jaw aches with the need to taste, but he knows that if he makes a move his boy will meet it, and overpower it. Will grinds on his cock like he’s desperate for it, and, perhaps he is. Something was the breaking point today and Hannibal is only along for the ride. 

This was the unlocking of Will Graham. 

Hannibal unwittingly held the keys. 

Will’s orgasm is breathtaking. Hannibal hadn’t even touched him, yet his cock pulses and twitches and spills hot and sticky over Hannibal’s stomach, ropes of cum zigzagging and spluttering in odd spots due to Will’s cock bobbing with his movements. His channel tightens around Hannibal’s cock and he grips Will’s hips hard, pulling him down and holding him in place. Orgasm achieved, Will allows Hannibal this control, dropping his head back and moaning as Hannibal’s cock jerks and spills within. Continuing his little grinding motions for just a few moments until they’re both spent, Will pulls off of Hannibal and, with the grace of liquid poured from a carafe, lies out next to the doctor on his stomach, in the exact position they had started out in. Feet spread, pillow under his chest, he looks up and meets Hannibal’s eyes, his smile giving all appearances of being sleepy were it not for the devilish glint in his eyes. 

“Clean me up… Daddy.” 

Drawn as if by gravity, Hannibal moves with his own feline grace down the bed to kneel between Will’s legs. His cum and Will’s blood are mixing beautifully and had yet to stain the duvet; he bends, ravenous, gathering the mess up with his fingers to push it back into Will’s hole all so he could seal it with his mouth to suck it up with his tongue. The flavors explode, tastier than anything he’s served recently at his parties, and he eats Will out like a starved man, and even when there’s nothing left to be had, he continues to lick and suck, worshipful and thankful to having been given such a treat. 

This time when Will reaches back with a hand to grab at his hair, he’s gentler as he guides Hannibal up. The doctor lies over Will’s back like a blanket, his cheek nuzzling over the lovely curve of Will’s shoulder, a near purr rumbling through his chest. After a few moments of silence, Hannibal finally speaks.

“We will have to talk about this, Will.” 

“Later,” Will says through a yawn. 

Hannibal moves a hand to gently trace his fingers over the few last, bulged veins in Will’s arm, eyes following the motion. “I think it’s a rather pressing matter to discuss your psychological-” 

Huffing, Will shifts to roll over, nearly dislodging Hannibal so he can glare up at him. “Don’t psychoanalyze me after amazing sex.”

“You bled,” Hannibal points out.

“I _wanted_ to,” Will replies.

“Hence the concern.”

Will arches a stately brow, looking rather cheeky for someone so thoroughly fucked. “And there’s no need to discuss your thoughts, _Daddy_?” 

Dutifully, Hannibal falls silent. He moves to slide off of Will to instead lie next to him, pulling up the blankets to tuck them around both their bodies, trapping their body warmth as he primly tucks the blankets under Will’s sides. “Tomorrow, then.”

Snorting, Will smacks Hannibal’s hands away before rolling towards him, burying his face in the man’s chest, licking at the dried blood tangled in the hair. Swallowing, Hannibal hesitates before he wraps his arms around Will, legs tangling to fully feel the man against him, so simply. 

He opens his mouth to speak, but Will interrupts. 

“I will use the scalpel in your bag to cut out your vocal chords so I can enjoy you all I want without the bullshit.” 

He closes his mouth, but he smiles. “That’s my boy.”


End file.
